


Sharp Dressed Man

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, possessive kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull gets new clothes.  Dorian highly approves.</p>
<p>He's also a little possessive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Dressed Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekingofcarrotflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/gifts).



Despite common belief, The Iron Bull did understand the importance of fashion. One did not work for Orlesian nobles for years without having a good, base understanding of how to make your look _work_.

He understood far more than Vivienne gave him credit for. Certainly, he was not nearly adept at the intricacies of the Game as she was, but everyone played in their own small way, and he played his Game from the shadows, a puppeteer operating the image of The Iron Bull, deadly mercenary captain, with the same finesse as Vivienne chose her shoes. After all, as he had told her, show people what they expect to see and they’ll never see the truth. 

So the circus pants had stayed, the shoulder harness and brace were serviceable and only lightly decorated, and everyone saw what he wanted- a messy blade, a vicious grin, death coming to them with bloodlust as his cloak.

Val Royeaux had a copious number of tailors of varying talent, but he did have to admit that this one seemed particularly adept as the small man flitted around a patient, motionless Dorian on his little circular stand, pinning and unpinning as the material shaped around him.

“And the satin for the shirts, I think,” Vivienne said, sweeping into the fitting area.

“Absolutely not,” Dorian said indignantly, lifting his arm. “The cotton or linen, certainly, with embroidery. No satin. I have had enough of freezing half to death in the library. If I must sacrifice my nice things, it will be for equally beautiful ones.”

“I like the satin,” Bull said mildly.

“You don’t get a say,” Dorian scowled. “It’s thanks to you we’re here to start with.”

“Yes, well. It was worth it.” Ripping clothes off of him never got old.

Dorian’s cheeks flushed a little, and he sniffed, turning away. The tailor hid his smile as he adjusted the collar of the coat. 

“Messare, are you insistent on the belts?”

“And the buckles, yes,” he said firmly, and the tailor nodded. Bull watched as the clothes took shape around him, and thought back to Vivienne’s talk of the coat that she wanted to have made. Perhaps that would be a good surprise. Dorian’s birthday _was_ coming up.

After everything had been finished, Dorian and Vivienne swept out the door, bickering, and Bull hesitated for a moment. The tailor smiled knowingly.

“So, how much would it cost me,” he said without bothering to deny his interest.

The tailor waved his hand. “It would be a challenge. I am outfitting two of the Inquisition as it is, I may as well make a third. And I have not outfitted someone of your stature before. I would like a new project.”

“What times do you have open tomorrow?”

oOo

“Mrrggghhhh,” Dorian growled as Bull attempted to extricate himself from under his arm. “Where’yeh goin’.”

“I have work to do, sweetheart,” Bull said soothingly, sliding out of bed and bending to kiss his temple. Dorian mumbled into the pillow, stealing his and pulling it down to hug it. He felt a burst of warm affection, and gently stroked Dorian’s hair. “I’ll be back later today.”

“Promise?” A sleepy, kohl smudged eye blinked up at him as Dorian nuzzled the pillow.

“Promise.” He bent down, kissing his cheek. “Go back to sleep, beautiful.”

Dorian nodded, making sleepy little noises as Bull tucked the blankets around him more securely, and was dead to the world by the time he left. 

Morning in Val Royeaux was far warmer than Skyhold, that was certain, and he shamelessly reveled in the early sun warming the cobblestones. Bakers were setting out their wares, merchants apprentices yawning as they propped open doors and set up awnings. The bustle and hubbub of a city full of life was just starting to warm up, and he smiled at the sleepy eyed women heading for their work, the little page boys scuttling along behind chevalier’s already nose deep in books, paperwork, or arguing with their peers. He enjoyed Val Royeaux, with its pageantry and drama, and as he stepped into the tailor’s shop he wasn’t surprised to see the man already dressed in his neat black clothes and a plate of warm croissants sitting on his counter.

The various dresses on display and beautiful fabrics lining the walls made the place feel warm, instead of closed in, and he waited patiently by the till for the tailor to notice him.

This time, he was the one on the stand, stripped down to smalls and waiting patiently as the tailor prowled around him, hissing at the scar tissue around his ankle and knee.

“You have such a shape,” he said at last, cocking his head. “Such wide shoulders, veritable barrel of a chest, but such graceful legs. Very shapely calves, solid thighs. This is to be a complicated endeavor. I am pleased.”

Bull lifted an eyebrow, but decided commenting was probably not in his best interest.

The tailor paced around him a few more times before having him step down and fetching a ladder so he could begin taking measurements. That alone took almost an hour as he measured, remeasured, fetched out a variety of instruments to measure other things, and noted it all down. That concluded, he nodded to himself, closed up the ladder, and began fetching fabric.

“Maroon is out,” he said, frowning. “A pity, but your tone is all wrong for it. Black would be elegant, purples as well. Lilac for more delicate pieces, darks for intimidation. No browns, perhaps a brighter red? But that may be too much, hmm.”

“Can you do something in pink?” Bull asked, and the man froze, his face lighting up.

“ _Oh_. Yes. Yes, definitely.” He jogged to fetch the most beautiful, delicate pink bolt of silk he’d ever seen, elegant as a rose. “Pink and silver would be very elegant for court attire.”

“I’ll have to lotion my hands for weeks before I can so much as touch that without snagging it,” Bull said, staring at the pink with longing. “Done.”

The tailor beamed, setting it aside. “Now, the lilac first, with silver underlay?”

oOo

Dorian was lounging in a silk robe in the Antivan style when he came back to their room, the fire crackling in the grate and a book in his hands.

“Do you know this uneducated lot seem to believe that Varric’s books qualify as high literature?” Dorian greeted him, closing _Hard in Hightown_. “I am personally offended and highly amused.”

“This from the man who’s read High Tevene smut,” Bull said, smiling as Dorian tipped his face up for a kiss. “Historical fuckery.”

“Literally,” Dorian muttered, smiling. “You were gone for quite some time.”

“I had lots to do,” he said, stepping back so Dorian could stand up. He tugged at the tie at his waist. “You know, we have this place for three more days.”

Dorian grinned as the robe fell open, revealing beautiful, smooth skin. “Oh?” he said archly, conjuring little sparks to run his fingers down Bull’s chest.

“Think we should properly break in the bed,” Bull said, matching his grin. 

“I love how you think,” Dorian said warmly, and grabbed his horn to pull him down for another kiss.

oOo

The sketches were beautifully detailed, and Bull whistled softly as he looked them over. “Do you have someone in mind for me to see for the boots?” he asked, and the tailor nodded as he pinned a vest into shape.

“Indeed. He specializes in those chevalier’s who have been injured and need support for a leg, or a new leg entirely.”

“How useful.” Bull gently set the papers down, examining himself in the mirror. He’d been surprised at how fast the tailor had worked but it was fantastic work. The pants were fitted comfortably, but not to the point of discomfort, in a warm black. The shirt was comfortable, the sleeves loose, and buttoned up the front to be tucked in, the collar designed to either close completely around his throat or sit comfortably loose. His wrists were unused to the binding around them, the cuffs wide but comfortable, pinned together with cufflinks. The shirt itself was incredibly soft violet linen, and over it had gone a long vest in deep, dark purple velvet so plush it took everything in him not to sit there stroking it.

The tailor smiled, stepping back. “I will adjust a few different types of vest to see which gives you the best shape,” he said approvingly. “Your Lady Ambassador will not be able to complain in any way when I am finished.”

“Oh? Have you and Ambassador Montilyet had words?” He asked, amused.

The tailor sniffed. “Not as of yet. Her tailor is something of a rival of mine.”

Bull resolutely kept from laughing as the tailor grouched about Josephine’s tailor, twitching his clothes into shape.

oOo

When they finally left Val Royeaux, it was with Dorian carrying a pile of new robes in considerably more reasonable materials, though with no shortage of fashionable cut, and Bull with a promise that his things would be delivered to Skyhold as soon as they were done.

Herah was thrilled to see them back, and dragged Dorian off to make him show her all the fancy new things he’d bought, much to Bull’s amusement. He took his things back to his room, and sprawled out on his bed. He was half asleep when Dorian waltzed in, dazzling in rich blue and soft leather.

“Well look at you,” he said fondly, sitting back up. “How’d you get away from Herah?”

“She had a meeting with the advisers,” he said smugly, spinning for him. “What do you think?”

“Gorgeous, as ever. But particularly in that. The blue’s good for you.” He leaned back against the headboard, and Dorian’s grin turned predatory.

oOo

As it happened, the clothes came shortly before Dorian’s birthday. The boots were a work of art, supporting him so well he didn’t even remotely need his brace while wearing them, and while he knew he would have to keep it, he was pretty certain he’d just found his new favorite cobbler.

Krem whistled as he helped Bull finish getting everything on before heading down to Dorian’s party. “This is good work,” he said approvingly, tugging the dark blue vest better into shape. It had delicate gold embroidery of coiled dragons on the shoulders, breathing fire around the deep V of the collar, the buttons rather beautiful gold embossed with the Charger’s symbol. He’d chosen the warm green shirt, knowing he would match Dorian beautifully. After all, he was in his house colors.

“I’m impressed,” Bull admitted as he finished with the boots, grinning at the stamped designs on them. A peacock, tail long and draping, sat on the outer panels of them, with dragons coiling up the front. Herah had loaned him her spare horn caps, which rather unexpectedly fit perfectly, and draped with thin gold chains between them.

Krem stepped back, grinning. “I’m betting he doesn’t stay through dinner,” he said. “Stitches has money on five minutes.”

“Yeah?” Bull preened a little, glancing in the shard of mirror. He barely recognized himself, honestly.

“Hell yeah.” Krem backhanded his shoulder. “Come on. I want to see how he takes it.”

They made their way down the stairs, and one of the serving girls passing actually had her jaw drop. He tried not to feel too smug about it as they made their way to the rotunda and a few of their templars straight up dropped their shields.

“There’ll be no living with you after this,” Krem said dryly, and headed through the door. The sound of laughter reached his ears, along with the smell of candles, cake, cookies, and meat. Someone had gone and made a proper dinner of it, it seemed. He could smell curry, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of real spice.

There was a riot of welcome as Krem walked in, a quick banter back and forth in Tevene, and Bull took a moment to steel himself before gliding in after him.

The conversation stopped, and Josephine gasped.

Vivienne’s eyes were wide, Cullen looked like he’d just choked on his curry, and Dorian... Dorian very gently set his wine glass down, and walked over to stand in front of him, eyes trailing over the beautiful fabric, the dragons, and down to the boots, where the peacocks stood out against the leather.

“Happy birthday,” Bull said, smiling down at him. Dorian made a breathless, choked whine in the back of his throat and dragged him down for a kiss that was a little more needy that normally allowed.

“You absolute bastard,” he whispered when he pulled back, beaming. “This is amazing. Was this all that work you had to do in Val Royeaux?”

“Got it in one,” he said fondly, and Dorian groaned, running possessive eyes over the embroidery.

“Well, this is an excellent gift,” Dorian murmured as conversation slowly picked back up, running his fingers over the soft sleeves. “It’s glorious work.”

“The same tailor,” he said, and Dorian looked positively possessive, his fingers tightening on the fabric. They were wearing matching attire made by the same man, in public, on display. Bull was pretty sure the only thing he could have done to make Dorian preen more at the display would have been to propose. 

“You live to aggravate me,” he said fondly, and Bull smiled. “And now I’m going to have to sit here thinking about the one present that I very much do _not_ want to unwrap in polite company.”

“Hey now,” he said, grinning. “Patience is a virtue, or something, right?”

Dorian grinned, dragging him over to go have some curry.

He sat at Dorian’s side for the rest of dinner, his hand resting on his leg when allowed, but Dorian was practically all over him, fingers twitching over the sleeves, running down the vest itself, and once twitching over the fastenings of the pants when he was certain no one was looking. They did make it through dinner and dessert, but only just barely, and Cassandra choked when Dorian offered him a candied date and he took it from his fingers with his teeth. Dorian, he realized, was _gloating_ , and it slowly dawned on him that this was the most effectively way he could have officially announced their relationship without saying a word. Here he was in Dorian’s colors, wearing his house symbol, in clothes by the same tailor. No one could mistake that he was Dorian’s now.

Feeling rather smug, he sat back, and took another date.

oOo

Dorian’s fingers were so gentle on his buttons, so tender as he carefully slid the vest off of him, setting it aside to ruck up the shirt from where it had been tucked. The cufflinks were removed with reverence, set aside on his dresser, the shirt following suit. Bull could get used to this.

“Is this how you feel when I strip you down?” He asked as Dorian kissed each inch of exposed chest as the shirt slowly fell away.

“Worshiped? Adored? Cherished? Hotter than any flame?” Dorian countered, nipping the skin to make Bull hiss in desire. “Because the answer is yes.”

Bull groaned, letting himself be pushed back onto his chair, enjoying the heat in Dorian’s eyes.

“I can’t even tell you how frustrated I was the whole time,” Dorian said, eyes bright with desire as he sank to his knees to gently remove the boots. He pressed a kiss to the leather, and Bull sucked in a groan as his cock twitched. “You in _my_ colors. _Mine_. If you did that in Tevinter, they’d be drawing up a new marriage crest as we speak.” Dorian’s voice went dark with lust as he stood, fingers trailing possessive down Bull’s chest. “As it is, I’m half tempted.”

Bull caught his breath as Dorian stepped between his legs to run his fingers over the black of the pants. “Oh?” 

“Everyone gets to see when you mark me up,” Dorian said, tilting his head as if Bull couldn’t see the massive bite, far too high up to hide. “I want you the same way. So everyone knows. I belong to you, you belong to me, it’s this whole funny joint venture thing.” 

“ _Kadan_ ,” Bull said warmly, and Dorian climbed into his lap, eyes wild, smile wide. 

“How many pairs of those pants did you get?” 

“Eight.” 

“Mmm. So it shouldn’t matter if we ruin one pair, isn’t that right _amatus_?” Dorian asked sweetly, and Bull’s head dropped back against the back of the chair as he laughed, warmth and happiness welling up within him. 

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he said, pulling Dorian up for a kiss and smiling against his mouth. “Yes, sweetheart. I think we can stand to ruin one pair.” 

“Good.” Dorian nipped at his lip, kissing him hungry and hot. “Bull?” 

“Hmm?” 

“ _Mine_.” 


End file.
